Someone spoke ahead of her. Minerva froze, and then stepped into the light. She spotted nine other figures, most dressed in black, some in dark green or grey. She nodded at the man who’d spoken. He was holding a shortbow and crouching over a pair of dead Hobs. Each had an arrow through the eye.
The man nodded to the downed Hobs. Minerva nodded. She glanced around. One of the other figures was kneeling and fumbling with what looked like glowing chalk and a glowing blue mana stone. His grumbling was quiet, no more than a gnat’s buzzing. Still, all of the shadowy infiltrators heard him perfectly.
He straightened and nodded at the others. Minerva saw him place the mana stone in the center of the diagram. To her eyes it looked like a circle with far too many wavy lines moving slowly towards the center in a dizzying pattern. But as the mana stone was placed she saw her leader, Jackal, lower his shortbow and pull a scroll out. He had a quill ready and wrote on the parchment. A short message, barely more than a word. Then he rolled the scroll up and tapped it twice on his palm. It glowed brightly, and then vanished.
The grumbler had an opinion on the magic scroll too. Minerva agreed, but she kept her mouth shut as she stood in place. She didn’t have to wait long. The circle on the ground began to glow brightly and the mana stone shone with pure blue light. The nine others stood back and shielded their eyes, preserving their night vision. Minerva heard a low pop and then voices.
The grumbler had an opinion on the magic scroll too. Minerva agreed, but she kept her mouth shut as she stood in place. She didn’t have to wait long. The circle on the ground began to glow brightly and the mana stone shone with pure blue light. The nine others stood back and shielded their eyes, preserving their night vision. Minerva heard a low pop and then voices.
A half-Elf with bright silver eyes and a few grey hairs looked around. He didn’t appear as old as some of his companions—one was a woman with a classic witch’s hat who looked positively ancient—but he gave Minerva the same impression as her grandfather had. He was carrying a wand whose tip was set with a fiery gem carved to match the wood. His robes shimmered with an odd, pulsating pattern. He, like his companions, practically shone in the darkness.
Jackal had a map. As the others crowded around he went over it. Minerva had already memorized it, but she looked anyways. The map was old, positively decrepit, but it was a good guide of what Dwarfhalls Rest had looked like in ages past.
The [Witch] grinned, showing a few missing teeth. Jackal stood. Minerva and four others followed Jackal into the shadows as the [Mages] began casting ward spells, arguing quietly. The other four infiltrators slipped backwards, removing the traps they’d found on their way in. The [Mages] waited patiently in their now secure entryway, until they heard fast footsteps and the jingle of metal on metal. The [Witch] grinned and raised a gnarled staff.
Death. Garen bared his teeth, trying to watch in two directions at once. The wounded [Rogue]—Minerva—rejoined the other three adventurers as they spread out to block him from escaping. Behind Garen, the group of warriors and mages called out.
The Great Chieftain roared. He struck the [Rogue] menacing Garen from the right and the adventurer crashed into a wall. Garen spun. He cut twice. The first blow the [Swordsman] caught on his sword, but the second cut Minerva’s belly open. She dropped, clutching at her sword as Garen dueled the Gold-rank adventurer. He could hear both teams screaming.
